Chess
by Ember Nickel
Summary: An adaptation of the musical, set in a alternate universe and featuring characters with names beginning with the letter E. Esplin and Essam strive for strategic leadership, as Edriss is caught in the middle. Finally complete!
1. Merano

One of its natives said that extraterrestrials would call it the blue planet. An incorrect judgment: it was far too diverse. While water dominated its surface, with magnificent coral structures harboring microscopic life and gargantuan whales in slow choruses, the land had even more different structures. Towering mountains, it was said, harbored creatures out of legend. Soft ground held mysteries underfoot, the bones of ancient beings. Some ate plants, others those that ate plants. They had run and fought and thrived and been loathed, hated by a being that would have rivaled the entire spheroid in size had it been constrained to spacetime. It threatened the fragile world, but could not destroy it: it was hurled through its trajectory. On some level, it was the doing of another creature: on another, it was life's indomitable drive to win out, as always, that succeeded. The planet survived.

Its natives shared the world with beings from beyond. Inconsequential, tiny beings united to form something bigger than themselves, and survived as parts of a past whole. Pacifistic nomads tended the soil and grew a species from their dead homeworld. With no native competition, it won the tactical struggle of evolution to survive when the people that had brought it there were destroyed with uncountable natives. And the planet lived on.

Another wave of visitors came. Brilliant androids, they arrived with a singular goal: protection of their doomed creators. Alien DNA entered the biosphere permanently. Then, an artifact capable of wiping out the entire universe was hidden underneath the planet's surface. With so much potential: so many climates, so cataclysmic a history, the planet was as good a representative as any-or better-as to how interconnected the cosmos was, and how little a change could affect everything that had ever existed. The planet stayed as sentinel, but that was not enough.

Evolution patiently guided a species to fruition. A paradoxical species, certainly, capable of the barest knowledge of themselves, and with the knowledge came the key to destruction. The world burned in their footsteps: from the time of their origination they outlasted evolution's false starts. Then they moved and explored, developing themselves and mastering everything they came across. What they could not overcome, they destroyed.

But through that, a people emerged. Fractured into subgroups, identifying as their species last if at all, they nevertheless shared the same mythos. The desire, like all sentients, to understand creation. They looked to the stars, and wondered.

And wandered. The divisions led to separate cultures, each with a unique identity. Each impossible, in all the universe, to recreate. But the stories of all time resonated on that world as any. They asked who or what lived on other worlds or beyond their universe entirely. They answered, sometimes as deliberate entertainment, sometimes through serious faith. They grew apart, questing for the same goals. Through competition, they at last broke free into space. On a grand timescale, reaching their moon came instantaneously afterwards.

They grew powerful. They could destroy everything they knew, everywhere they had been, in no time at all. They sent relics into space, so that at the worst, they could leave something behind.

And while they mocked those who believed in contemporaries from other worlds, they asked themselves if such an invasion was the only thing that could unite them forever and save them from themselves-but only a few of them. Most went on with their tumultuous existence, though some more tumultuous than most. Having no opponents on a planetary scale, they fought each other on ships and with tanks and in the snow, with dangerous words that estranged each other from themselves and from opportunities they savored.

But just outside a parched, blasted, war zone, an alien landed.

He exited and looked at their destruction, not understanding it as surely as they did not understand him. To him, they were weak, incapable of resisting infinitesimally superior technology. They would fall before him if he wished, sacrifice their bodies and their freedom to further his cause.

Such ambition was not inherent to him, however. He saw their brokenness, saw their need, saw their irrationality. He saw a niche that he could fill, him and his race. The creatures did not understand how lacking their lives were, but they could with exposure to the alternatives. Their strong bodies and his people's strong minds would be bound forever then. Nothing could interfere with such symbiotism, such perfection!

They were the perfect hosts. Class Five, the technical term was. They would be overcome quickly and smoothly, with no need to know about the power struggles overhead. He would be known as the co-discover at least of the planet: he, Essam 293, the incompetent. He would show the way for his people and the people he had found. Surely, no one could interfere with his plan?

It would not matter, of course, if the hosts were aware of it. They had no capacity for resistance. All that mattered was, if there was ever any debate over how to deal with the planet, he would be trusted. Through disregarding his superior's orders and coming on this madcap mission, he had earned the right.

Somewhere on the planet, a hologram flickered. The bloody sands where Essam stood trailed and dissolved. Other sands, sands that the inhabitants viewed as vaguely similar in location if nothing more, lay in shadow, precise mathematical ratios pointing to the location of an object that was no longer there. The world was on the edge, every moment.

But it had always bounced back. From the pride in the warriors that gave their lives for what they believed in to what Essam would interpret as towering greetings from affluency, in a place where aliens were humorous concepts to be laughed at. From strife-torn cities to towering, undisturbed, trees. From a butterfly's miniscule wings to the sleek engines of Essam's spacecraft, the world was in turmoil, but a turmoil that would give rise to life that would give rise to events more unpredictable and dynamic than the imaginative species could have designed.


	2. title inside

_Author's note: (( and )) denote thoughtspeak. The full title of this chapter is _The Russian and Molokov/Where I Want To Be

"wasting the Empire's force on this puny class-four species…a perversion of strategy…the concept of fools…Ashamed? Only that I must refute this laughable idea…"

Efflit 1318 scornfully terminated the telecast. "This shouldn't be difficult."

((Efflit, what are you doing? )) Visser Three swooshed his host's tail as he walked through his quarters on the Empire Ship.

"Saving you from this rhetoric." Efflit turned to face his superior.

((Turn it back on,)) he commanded. ((If he's so arrogant about his tactics, he might have a reason behind them. With any luck, he'll give a hint of them before the meeting today.))

"Today? A bit idealistic, aren't we?"

Once a generation, Yeerks invading various planets met to discuss the most appropriate strategies. Though on some it was just a formality (the Taxxon "debate" had consisted of bureaucratic tedium over which lines of longitude food supply bases belonged at), tensions were escalating for the Earth one already. It was no secret that the Visser, still resentful that the Council of Thirteen had rejected his militaristic proposal, was preparing for another try. He would be opposed by the current spearhead of the invasion, credited for the discovery of the planet, Sub-Visser One. Though the Visser outranked his rival, he knew not to underestimate him.

Evidently, Efflit did not. "It'll go on a lot longer than one day."

((I'm aware of that. Turn the telecast back on.))

"You can do that yourself," Efflit muttered petulantly.

((I'm saving my energy.))

"Yes, and you'll save more if you don't waste it worrying about this…Sub-Visser."

((And be completely unprepared when the meeting begins. Which I assume you don't want, given your devotion to my policies.))

"It's your policies I support, Visser." The "not you" was almost audible.

((But you're not the figurehead, and if I fail, you won't take the blame.))

"There are plenty of high-ranking people who support this cause."

((But apparently none more capable than you to be my assistant.))

Efflit hadn't stayed alive by picking every fight that he could. "Perhaps you need some time to ponder this yourself."

((Yes, perhaps.)) The Visser's tail blade arched, almost in boredom.

Efflit exited coolly, his Dracon beam hanging limply in his host's left hand. Once he was safely out of the Visser's private quarters, he smirked as he unclenched his right. The transponder was in it. If nothing else, he could keep the Visser from fixating on that.

But no one could have kept the Visser's mind from its turbulent wanderings. Essam and the future didn't concern him as he paced around his room: it was the past that troubled him. He had no logical reason why: by any and all accounts, he was wildly successful. The only Andalite-Controller, a high-ranking Visser, and if Efflit's boasts were any indication, a sure victor in the meeting.

And yet emptiness plagued him, gnawed at his mind. Quantum voids surged and merged with Alloran's silent protests. He dedicated his energy to repressing them, but that only empowered them, recognition the reward they craved.

He didn't know what he was doing on the planet at all. The humans were weak: though he didn't like to admit it, the bumbler outside could have taken them with the necessary authority. _He_ had discovered them, and who was taking the credit? That pathetic Sub-Visser! He reached for the transponder. Not finding it, he returned to normal consciousness and searched for it, which consisted of throwing various objects around until he gave up. A dangerous resignation, as the malaise resumed.

He was no idealist, and understood that the Sub-Visser would never respect him for his accomplishment. That was fine, he didn't need approval from people like him. Efflit, even the Council…He did not want their thanks, but didn't know what he did want.

It had been a long journey since his spawning, and not just in light-years. He'd ascended through the ranks, creating opportunities for others and destroying just as many. Though not yet a Councilor, that wasn't necessary for him: he liked the fighting more than interminable politics, which explained much of his annoyance at being there.

Essam was an opponent, though, as assuredly as those Andalite bandits. He would try to enjoy as much of the strategy session as he could. The frustration of politics manifested itself when he had to deal with people like Efflit. An appointment from some distant council, the annoying low-rank took his responsibility too seriously. The Visser had no idea what he was getting in return: the chance to harass him, perhaps, which too many people wanted. Assassination attempts were crude, but there were subtler ways of hurting a Yeerk's reputation. He hadn't been behind many of them for a long time, but his underlings might have, or people vaguely aligned with him. He got all the blame.

And the corresponding credit? An envied rank with the chance, nothing more, of leading the invasion of a planet of which he was responsible for the Yeerks' knowledge. Was he a fool to ask for more?

It had not come without sacrifice. Studying the Andalites fastidiously, he had endured the taunts of people who didn't believe they could be defeated. They had their weaknesses, as surely as he had his, but his had not been exploited. Yet.

It would be sadly ironic if his real threat was not one of the Sub-Visser's subordinates, but one of his own. Efflit was cocky, always looking for another edge…Having so many people working for him-vaguely aligned with his beliefs would perhaps be a better term-had a downside. Or maybe having the illusion of control over them was the smaller upside to a larger issue-or a downside in its own right.

There would always be those who believed they could topple the top. Perhaps he had wanted to be on the Council in his youth: he couldn't remember. That was his true sacrifice along the way: the loss of the passion that had got him there. Now, his force was dedicated to remaining where he was: entrenching the social order-the same one that let people like Essam dictate strategy.

And if-_when_-he was victorious in that, too? An all-out war against the backward people? Conquest, ultimately, of the Andalite homeworld? He already had an Andalite host: where was his loyalty to the Empire, to the people that rewarded Essam, that wanted to see all of them outfitted in hosts like his? He would no longer be an anomaly…Only the leader of a past success. The past blurred everything, taking his struggle with it.

He had fantasized of being what he was, and now, he had nothing left to dream of.


	3. The Opening Ceremony

The chambers were enclosed, and could be guarded by cloaking shields, force fields, and several dozen Hork-Bajir shock troops. Open now for Gedds to mill around, ambitious Sub-Vissers to show off their progress to their unimpressed overseers, and Taxxons to lurk greedily around the edges, it nonetheless was a foreboding fortress.

And yet, it was accessible from far beyond. The Emperor stood on the Council ship, surrounded by security of his own, watching silently. _It will be very droll,_ he commented to himself. _Perhaps not as…explosive…as the Hork-Bajir conferences eight generations ago, but there's no room for hope in my job._

He would not interfere in the discussions: he had other priorities, and he was actually perfectly neutral when it came to the strategies. Both partisans led many followers, both were capable, both had flaws. Impartial but anything but apathetic, he would watch the deliberations warily, knowing he could be called upon to intervene if things became uncontrollable. Until then, he would continue his bureaucratic responsibilities.

His gifts for subtle manipulation could have come in useful for some of the Yeerks that were gathered inside the complex. Groups of sweet-talkers looking for any advantage they could wring out, they moved in huddles easy to identify with one camp or another. Though they would have no voice in the actual discussion, their preliminary flirts brought tastes of things to come.

"Indubitably," one said, "it is a mark of our own sacrifice that we are willing to negotiate with…people so far opposed to us.."

"Excuse me?" another laughed. "We are all simply servants of the Yeerk Empire."

"Of course. Excuse my inaccuracies."

"Pardoned, of course."

Efflit mingled among them. He knew very few would get any benefit from the event, and those who did would be climbing over the backs of incompetent scapegoats on the other side. Yet illogically, Yeerks who were normally loners, out for their own success, had collectively realized the futility of such solo attempts and coalesced into massive bodies, both charged with a collective passion for their overall strategy. Then they pretended to hide their allegiance behind lofty rhetoric, as if the people who cared paid attention to them. Anything for a leg, or other limb, up.

They were not the only ones seeking to exploit the meeting, though. On the outskirts of that solar system, Skrit Na tuned their radios to a common wavelength. They excitedly prattled in their own language, linking to fellow merchants across the galaxy. "The Yeerks are discussing plans for Earth! They are rarely this keyed up!"

"What will they need to keep their mind relaxed?"

"Oohoo!" The market for psychoactors was literally universal. "Much."

"And of course, our correspondents deserve a constant flow of information."

"Yes. There are frequencies reserved for these purposes. Z-space technicians have been rewiring the electromagnetic spectrum: there is therefore a quantum chance that any attempt broadcast could simply default to our media."

"That is likely to inspire resentment."

"For sufficient payment, of course, we can reconsider. Or at least give the impression that we are reconsidering. I'm not quite sure some of those psychoactors haven't wound up in the extremities of some of those technicians…"

Another voice expressed wariness. "These debates are too irrelevant or sophisticated for some species."

"We will _make_ them relevant. Until something else comes up of greater relevancy."

"This planet they are attempting to invade is famous for its diversity, correct?"

"Correct," came a dubious answer.

"It would be beneficial to acquire native species."

An awkward silence filled the airwaves. "Previous trips for such purposes have been unsuccessful. We are discriminated against, and those who have seen our presence are mocked. Our Yeerk allies will be too involved in their conversations to assist us," one finally explained.

"And then there was the Taxxon detour."

"The what?" replied the ignorant questioner.

Their silences implied very strongly that the fact that it was before his time was all he needed to know, and that might have been pushing it a bit.

He regrouped and tried again. "Perhaps we can market items as being from the planet?"

"That are not?"

"Precisely. Or the solar system in general: there are curious artifacts from a nearby planet."

"They will suffice."

"I will dispatch a foraging team."

The event was spiraling beyond the Yeerks, and even the humans. The Emperor strained to devise a way to keep it manageable, but it could have been even beyond his power now. Reluctantly, he opened a one-way communications link.

"Hello," he announced in _Galard_, in his capacity as a Councilor. "I have a few simple details to clarify."

A minor advantage of the Yeerks' diversity in infesting different species was revealed: groans from as many hosts were in the chambers at that time, had they been emitted by identical organisms with identical duration and wavelength, would have been so strong as to cause serious structural damage to even that building.

"You are all, of course, loyal servants of the Empire, and would not even _consider_ immature tactics such as bribery. I will not insult you by pretending otherwise."

It had the desired effect: edginess, especially from lurkers in the back.

"Regardless of your rank, you will respect all participants. I have no need to bore you with such minutae."

Uncertain mutterings from people unsure if they were being flattered.

"However, in order to avoid repeats of fluke precedents, several other points will be briefly addressed…"

"There's nothing like a good Yeerk rant. Unless you count a bad Yeerk rant," a low-rank idly mused.

But the sentiment was common and unfeigned. Home pools, host species, nothing mattered except which side you were on…It was an idealistic image, and it would have surely been enhanced had any of the four people that would be most active in directing the course of the action made any effort to do so.

Instead, Visser Three was trying to analyze his opposition, Efflit was eying a vending machine suspiciously, and much to the chagrin of his assistant, Essam was ambling towards the transponder that broadcasted the Emperor's message. He flicked it off, then left the room.


	4. Quartet: full title inside

_The full title for this chapter is _Quartet (A Model of Decorum and Tranquility)

The Emperor was a busy being. Leader of the Council of Thirteen and the entire Yeerk Empire, he was no stranger to danger. He had faced Andalite Dome ships, rebellious hosts, and the logistics of interstellar navigation.

Today, he had a new problem.

Its name was Efflit 1318.

After the Sub-Visser's inexplicable exit, the Yeerks had been cast into disarray. Efflit shrewdly saw the opportunity as a place to lay the blame on his superior's opponent, and immediately called an emergency meeting. To support his position, he had dragged along the Visser himself, though the latter appeared distinctly bored at the proceedings. Efflit could not be bothered to notice such behavior, only using it as an excuse to speak on behalf of countless Yeerks rallied behind their cause. His rhetoric was unceasing, as he targeted first the Sub-Visser, then all his supporters. There was plenty to target: such a walk-off was unprecedented.

Neither Efflit, the Visser, or any of their underlings had actually seen the Sub-Visser since then. The only person who claimed to was his personal assistant. This, however, immediately gave her the responsibility of explaining his behavior. When Efflit paused to breathe, she jumped in: not because she was ready, but because she doubted she'd get another opportunity. "Have you considered that maybe there is a reason that he left? And that the people responsible for the event are also responsible for whatever reason?"

Efflit looked at her in an uncharacteristic moment of silence, then simply said, "No." Inhaling, he repeated his outraged cry, though varying it slightly. "If you are implying that I have any other purpose for being here than discussing the invasions-"

"-the benefit of the doubt that you've been granted-"

"-you slight an entire force of loyal Empire-"

"-dealing with the Visser rather than anonymous individuals demanding-"

"-distracting us from the main focus of this-"

Efflit's accusation was not directed at the Emperor, but he was perhaps guilty of the charge. While the ideologues debated viciously, he was desperately seeking approval for more specific details. "A standard interferer will broadcast at a frequency of 256 nanometers from inside the complex, thus prohibiting external knowledge of the discussions, unless there is any expressed dissent?"

"-what motives could have prompted such a display of-"

"Take that as a yes, then."

The Sub-Visser's second continued trying to defend him. "If you are looking for something to boost your egos, consider how long he lasted before protesting your injustices."

"Ours? How would his irregular departure imply misbehavior on our part? And who is moderating his actions?"

"Me-"

"-with yourself, of course, in such a magnanimous display of respect by staying behind and refusing to sink to his level." Efflit grinned, almost flirtatiously.

She was taken aback. "I-you've changed your tone quite a bit."

"I express only the same concerns you do," he replied with a nod, "that this civil discussion setting will regress into a degenerate brawl."

She smiled faintly at the camaraderie from an unexpected source. A moment later, he picked up right where he left off.

The Visser entered the conversation, his thoughtspeak seemingly communicating on a deeper, more intrinsic level than Efflit's prattle. ((Not to interrupt such stimulating conversation, he laced each word with sarcasm, but if the Sub-Visser is so upstanding and of such moral fiber…where is he?))

The Emperor took advantage of the bickering to make another minor proposal. "Without any other opinions being indicated, a frieze matrix will be placed over all entrances and egresses to the facility."

While other opinions were indeed indicated, they had nothing to do with his trivialities. "He is resting. He has not had the easy path to his position: no grand Andalite host to infest, no dramatic space battles to win. Had you any thought for anyone beyond yourself," the Sub-Visser's second declared, "you could perhaps emphasize with him. But I doubt it."

"Unless you actually believe he is going to show up," Efflit confronted her, "please let us get back to our official business: preparing for the debate. Which is all we want to do."

((It _is_ difficult for me to emphasize: with you. Why would you work with someone who leaves you in situations like this?))

"With no objections," the Emperor declared, "the maximum length of discussion will be one quarter of the revolution of this planet around its own axis, before adjournment."

"I enjoy," said the Sub-Visser's second sharply, "success, and I have found that it is most probable right where I am."

Efflit, however, had actually heard the Emperor's request. "Adjournment? When we could spend even more time yelling at each other?"

The Emperor laughed grittily from within his Hork-Bajir host. "The homeworld didn't rotate on the same timescale: our pool meetings went on longer than we could stay in our hosts! Almost a shame, really," he added reflectively, "to see what it's turned into."

"Almost?"

((Best of luck to you.)) The Visser kept his thoughtspeak private. ((You deserve better, and I doubt you will get it.))

"None of us will get anything out of this," the Sub-Visser's second protested loudly. "And what's worse, all of us know it already. We only do it because we have to do it."

"It'll be fun," Efflit smirked.

"For you."

But none of them looked forward to it. For all the Emperor established minutiae, he had not ascended to his grand rank to do a Gedd's job. For all Efflit looked for an edge in competition, debate was too passive for him. For all the Visser boasted, Essam was a serious threat.

And for all Edriss 562 tried, she was still under the thumb of Essam, subject to his unpredictable whims. The freedom she experienced was a consequence only of his inexplicable absence.

It was truly inexplicable. Without any idea where he had gone, she was pressured to defend him to the three other Yeerks, all very divergent. Imperial rhetoric, the conquest of Earth: nothing was a common ground.

Ironically enough, perhaps the common disgust at the debate process was the only thing that could unite them.


	5. The American and FlorenceNobody's Side

It was a luxurious room, fit for a human idol. But instead of inhabiting a Hollywood actor as he had a literal lifetime ago-his former host's-Essam was now in a human of average appearance.

He had returned to the Empire Ship incognito, and relaxed while the others were frenzily searching for him. But there was a high price for his gallivants, and Edriss was extracting it. "…alienating your increasingly fewer allies, _dapsen_…"

Essam forced his host's muscles into that human expression known as a "smile" as he tried to assuage her. "It's only the aggressive group that's been hurt. They certainly deserve it."

"_I_ didn't deserve what you put me through! I had to cover for your sorry-"

"Oh, I _am_ sorry. Sorry I thought you were working for me. Sorry I thought you wanted us to defeat them. Sorry for being wrong."

"You don't need to sink this low to prove a point."

"I'm saving my debating skill for the actual event. Do I need to remind you of what they did to us? To our family?"

"No." Edriss's angry front slipped: her teeth clenched a little tighter together in the back.

She was, of course, correct. Neither of them needed any help to remember the trauma they'd gone through.

They had been the first Yeerks on Earth, tipped off from a Sub-Visser who was presumably languishing in anonymity somewhere. And then, the second wave of arrivals had come in: arrogant, acting like they owned the planet, and completely unable to see any strategy except all-out warfare.

When they encountered Edriss and Essam, the "aggressive group" accused them of desertion and treason. But Essam's "debating skill" had served him well. Not only had he convinced them of the value of Earth, he had been promoted to a Sub-Visser, to boot. But the damage had been done: by the time the co-discoverers were suitably arranged within new hosts, their children, Madra and Darwin, were gone.

"They haven't changed," he said quietly. "The ones that did this? Still here. I won't lose you to them, too."

"You won't lose me," Edriss replied more confidently than she felt, "because I am not a bargaining chip. I'm not something to be exchanged for the dismantling of three Blade ships and the construction of a Pool ship. I am an individual, and I can make my own decisions."

"We need to stay together," he urged. "For the children's sake."

"We need to find them first. Something _I'll_ be working on while _you're_ doing whatever it is you do."

"Can I count on your help?"

His uncharacteristic anger suggested a dichotomy: either he could, or they were enemies.

"I probably won't be much help," she nervously stammered, doubt in her voice. "I'm not as fast as you are, as…Well, I'm just not like you."

He continued to stare at her, eroding her with a withering gaze.

"I need some time to think." Unsuccessfully trying to maintain her composure, she exited to her private chambers.

She was closer to Essam than she imagined she could be to anyone. He was her handpicked choice to join her on the exploration of a potential Class-Five world. Yet the Sub-Visser who she was escaping was not the same engineer she had rescued from execution. He divided the world into puppet and enemy, and she would be neither.

When they had met, she was Sub-Visser 409. Over the generations of working together, she had cracked the double-digit barrier, ascending to be one of the top one-hundred Sub-Vissers. With equal credit for his work, he was among the top ten. Had she achieved their joint accomplishments alone, she certainly could be as high as he was. Perhaps a Visser, like the intriguing one she'd just met.

((So what's it like,)) Eva taunted, ((to have another Yeerk controlling your mind?))

((Shut up!))

It was difficult to maintain romance in a species when reproduction involved death. Once, she and Essam had been passionate for each other. But his emotion was negative now, emanating away from him towards anything that stood in his path. She, in contrast, wanted to love the children she didn't know. Without them, her feelings searched for an alternate outlet.

Essam had served her purposes. He was capable, competent, and had been desperate, which was all she needed. But there was nothing she could do to him now, no way she could change him or divert him from the insane path on which he was headed.

The true flaw of the Yeerks was that they could never be both functional and alone. From the meaningless Gedd presence to whatever the poor Visser had to deal with sharing his mind with an Andalite, they were always subject to their hosts' complaints. If Edriss could not have closed her mind to Eva, constructed a mental wall that her wild emotions could bounce off of without spilling over, life would have been worse. As it stood, she was not fully in control. The fact that Eva could lash out at her signified that she was losing her hold, just as her power had been usurped by Essam.

She exited her chambers and wandered through the complex hallways. The glaring lights in white tile disguised the fact that they were underground. Her labyrinthine walk ended at the pool, where she patiently got in line with Yeerks waiting to feed. Out of Essam's shadow, which had grown to eclipse her, she was treated just the same as any low-rank.

She finally was able to kneel at the edge of the pier and submerge herself into the murky pool. Incapable, but free from any distraction, she swam a slow lap. She had already fed recently-only the best for Essam's assistant-but enjoyed soaking up the luxurious Kandrona rays.

A low-rank eagerly thoughtspoke to her. They were not connected by any physical medium except for the fluid, but seemed instantaneously linked, as if a silver flash connected them with a buzz. ((Hi!))

Angrily, Edriss plunged deeper in. There was no escape from the rest of the world. All she could do was hold fast to her independence.


	6. Chess

Hundreds of hosts had entered the chambers, with precise areas reserved for each rank. Thousands of more Yeerks on Earth were connected too, with technology beaming live feeds to them. The transmission lagged throughout the galaxy, even with Z-space assistance, but uncountable people followed along. Yet with all this participation, two dominated the event. The Visser and Sub-Visser were on opposite sides of the room, their underlings surrounding them, as if protecting them from the opposing forces.

"Proceedings will begin," the Emperor declared in a bored voice.

Immediately, a display board lit up with lights representing different Yeerks that had clicked buttons on their handheld consoles that indicated their desire to speak. The first one, milliseconds ahead of the second, was recognized by the Empire, asked where the bathrooms were, and were dismissed. Sixty-three similar proceedings later, the Sub-Visser took the floor.

"My fellow Yeerks," he began, "we stand at the crossroads of two paths. To choose the right one, we must listen to the anguished cries of our backward hosts, and recognize that they are a serious concern. We must understand our interdependence in this galaxy. We must, in short, be prepared to accept the responsibility of leaders in cooperation such that our species may prosper." As he spoke, pinpricks of light continued to dot the board, as more Yeerks clambered to support or counter him. "To this end, I have prepared a presentation to demonstrate the best plan of action. As my assistant helps me set it up, I turn the floor over to the next speaker." His shrewd tactic seemed magnanimous. In reality, he hoped it would allow his opponents to exhaust their rote responses while Edriss got the projection ready.

Meaningless prattle from four low-ranks, and then Efflit had his turn. While not seeming the most diplomatically savvy, he made a prudent decision to transfer his speaking time to his commanding Visser.

((We are not what the Sub-Visser consigns us to be. He desires our submission to alien whims, our subjugation to the Andalite ideology. In short, he stands anathematically opposed to the Empire. In a different context, such statements would suffice to warrant a trial. But as an opening, it was merely functional. We must not be restrained by any boundaries: rather, we must expand, and expand without fear. Earth is our great opportunity: perhaps home to the only Class-Five species. We cannot be timid: we cannot wait to seize this chance.)) He, too, relinquished his floor position: he had "buzzed in" independently of Efflit (albeit with Andalite fingers) and would get his own chance soon.

Turning the floor over to superiors increasingly became the order of the day. Those who didn't were quietly (usually) reprimanded by minor Sub-Vissers in the triple digits. But the debate was clear between Essam and Esplin: many people's sole contributions were clicking in order to give those two more speaking time. Their oratories became lengthier, and bureaucracies swelled as eloquent mid-ranks compiled the statistics of the mob into comprehensive presentations for the two powerhouses. Behind the scenes, Edriss and Efflit toiled feverishly.

The interminable dialogue continued, but subtle changes marked it. For example, when Essam began his eighth refutation of one of Esplin's more outlandish suggestions, he did not begin by directly addressing the proposal. Instead, he started: "The Andalite-lover's concept…"

Not to be outdone, the Visser began his rebuttal with ((Although cowards have implicated that…))

Meanwhile, Efflit stood at the vending machine, tapping the glass in syncopation as he noisily ate some unhealthy food that he'd purchased. During the Sub-Visser's dramatic flourishes, Efflit would crinkle the wrappers. The noise didn't suffice to drown it out, but was enough to be a considerable annoyance.

So in retaliation, Essam instructed one of his supporters to seize a Bug fighter (whose Bug fighter it actually was being utterly irrelevant to the Sub-Visser's purposes) and go into a short orbit around the building itself, with radio broadcasting theoretically louder than the Visser's rhetoric.

Efflit followed with an uncharacteristic (and probably unrealistic) display of empathy, when he pointed out that while human sustenance was readily available (though his ominous glances at the vending machine suggested that it might not be for long), there was no grass for Andalites. It would be unfair, he argued, to allow the discussion to continue under such unequal circumstances.

The Hork-Bajir Controller in the Bug Fighter Draconed the area vaguely near Esplin as the latter was twitching his tail to emphasize a point. That was about when any control anyone could have vaguely claimed to have had over the event completely disintegrated.

Efflit raised his own Dracon and began shooting erratically. Essam ran for cover, Edriss close behind. Esplin's thundering thoughtspeak was lost in the chaos. Eventually, the Emperor officially called for evacuation, but most of the Yeerks had taken the initiative and gotten far away from the premises.

For all his pomp, the Emperor wasn't rushing to restore the proceedings. Neither Esplin nor Essam trusted the other enough to make contact. And Efflit was more interested in random chaos than civilized discussion.

But Edriss had an incentive. If a plan could not be agreed upon, she feared what the Visser might do with no interference. Everyone wanted their own beliefs to triumph, she knew. All it would take is someone to put the pieces back together…maybe many people.

The key would be for Esplin and Essam to make a private consensus. Another public debacle would only puncture one of their reputations so fatally that the other would forever have the upper hand.

So she sought out her counterpart. "Efflit? Efflit 1318?"

"Shut up," he instinctively began, only then pausing to ask, "Who are you?"

"I am Edriss 562," she proclaimed icily. "Co-discoverer of this planet, and the only one who can put this shambles in order."

"Whew!" His self-deprecation was sarcastic. "Too much for little ol' me."

"Indeed." She began backing away, threatening the walkout that had come to characterize the event.

"Not," he muttered under his breath, but deliberately loud enough so that she could hear him, "that you'd be able to find your way around the county social services system with a-"

Edriss had no idea how that could be relevant at all to him, but refused to let herself be rattled. "Such _ghafrash_ idiocy only characterizes-"

"-forced to come crawling to me for-"

"Unless you have an idea of what I want, shut up and let me tell you."

"Oh, I have a very good idea. You want my boss."

Edriss froze momentarily, then spluttered as her speech picked up speed. "If you can get him for me, we can put this thing back together. Have him meet the Sub-Visser tomorrow night. In the Yeerk Pool Cafeteria."


	7. Mountain Duet

"It figures," the Sub-Visser sulked, "that all he'd send was some low-rank in this repulsive human garb."

"Essam?" Edriss tried to keep her voice mild.

"What?"

"That's a cook."

"What's a cook doing here?"

"I would assume cooking. This is a cafeteria."

"Then he's late."

Edriss, not wanting to argue with the facts, sat down at a table.

"You should have known better than to trust him." Essam spoke with a sardonic twinge as he strode out.

Edriss lethargically rose and followed. As she did, she heard the noise of approaching footsteps, and experienced momentary relief that Essam's volatile mood swing had finally surpassed. But the noise wasn't lockstep enough to be that of a single person (or two, if one was infesting the other). Instead, an Under-Visser preceded Visser Three as if heralding his arrival.

"Did you see Essam?" Edriss called, omitting the proprieties of rank.

The Visser narrowed all four of his host's eyes. ((Not recently.))

His accompanying underling silently noted Edriss's attitude. Her emotion seemed to be getting the best of her; she behaved unprofessionally, letting them know that she was just as clueless as they were.

"Oh. Anyhow. We can get something to eat." She quickly made her way over to the cook. "A couple servings of some human fare."

The cook complied, working hastily but striving for accuracy, not wanting to get in the way. "I'll just leave you."

Edriss took her tray and sat down, leaving the second on the counter. The underling, trying not to appear too eager, stepped towards it, but was quickly cut off by a rapidly-disappearing tail as the Visser morphed human. He took the tray and sat on the far side of the cafeteria.

Edriss ate daintily, appearing to fixate on her food. The Under-Visser, realizing he was not going to get anything to eat, paced around and tried to look like he was accomplishing something. The Visser, having chosen his seat judiciously, focused on the clock, as the two hours which he had in human morph passed silently.

Finally, the Under-Visser spoke, harshly. "Does the Sub-Visser even want to restart at all?"

It sounded like something Efflit would say: only those with a reputation for such brashness could get away with it. But as Edriss analyzed what could possibly prompt such a stupid comment, she remembered the Visser's thought-speak capabilities. There was no reason to assume they wouldn't follow him into human morph. So he was relaying his message, tact excluded, to an expendable underling. Edriss felt momentarily chilled: she was dealing with a capable strategist, a rare occurrence. "It was your tardiness," she replied primly, "that made him doubt this would work."

"Considering his behavior in the discussion, I don't think we'll need him around to come to a consensus."

"What are you implying?" Edriss retorted sharply.

The Visser smiled vaguely, holding out his hands as if to placate her. "I only thought that he might prove a hindrance with his unreasonable demands."

Edriss quickly found herself at a mental impasse: she could not truthfully contradict him, and she could not loyally go along with that. "It might be difficult to get him to accept something that he wasn't here to negotiate."

"You'll do a fine job," the Visser unnervingly smiled at her.

Edriss cast a dark scowl out of view of the Visser, assuming he was trying to throw her off so that she wouldn't be able to perform.

The scowl was still set on her face when Essam reentered. "Fine greetings."

"Oh! I thought-we were-" She glanced at the stony Visser and his unimpressed underling, then back at the Sub-Visser. "Nice to see you're here," she lamely finished.

"Nice to see you have as much respect for punctuality as the ideals of the Yeerk Empire," the Visser addressed Essam.

"Nice to see you two _getting along so well_." Essam's voice dropped to a hiss for the last four words. "Shall we begin?"

"Indeed." Edriss's voice snapped back to its professional demeanor. "Both of you want to resume the debate, then?"

"Unquestionably," the Visser replied.

Essam merely nodded.

"So what terms will it take for both of you to do so?"

"That his underlings cease to be a distraction!" raged the Visser.

"That he ceases to be a nuisance!"

"That _he_ ceases to be an idiot!"

At that, Edriss held up her hands warningly. "You're both here to debate the merits of your respective plans of action. You'll have plenty of time to…find flaws in each other's logic."

"Better we get our emotion out here than in public," Essam commented wryly.

Edriss rolled her eyes. "Is there anything worth codifying? I can't imagine that your implicit promise will go very far."

The Visser had given her an expression nearing pity after Essam's dark dichotomy. "Ah, but it will not be implicit, not if you remain to vouch for whoever cites it,"

"Besides," Essam added, "if we ever get restarted, people will know that both of us agreed to it."

"Both of you, equally, with no threat or coercion?" Edriss dubiously asked.

"Yes," the Visser solemnly stated.

"Sure," Essam halfheartedly echoed.

"Listen," she went on, "even if both of you were on your best behavior, your subordinates could singlehandedly ruin the event."

"What are you threatening?!"

"Nothing," she soothely placated, "from myself. But there are other people involved who enjoy distractions."

"So, you want us to make a public agreement so I have a piece of paper with which to hit my assistant over the head?" joked the Visser. At her stupefied glance, he explained himself. "I don't enjoy his company either."

Disgruntled, the underling accompanying him unceremoniously dumped his leftovers in the trash.

"Not you."

"So, are we going to write out this compromise or not?" Essam asked.

"How's this?" Edriss replied, fishing a piece of paper out from her pocket.

_The discussion is to be resumed. Events leading to its delay were the responsibility of no single individual or group of individuals. Those who seek to halt progress or interfere with protocol will be duly punished._

_Signatures:_

"That's it?" Essam asked. "All we do is sign?"

"If you think that it is sufficient, yes."

"I wouldn't assume that he thinks," sneered the Visser icily. "Do you have a pen?"

"Oh, no, sorry…forgot." Flustering, Edriss looked wildly around the room.

"You wrote this all out and you forgot to bring a _pen_?" Essam made no effort to hide the tone of his voice.

"I've had plenty of time, what with the debate being postponed," she replied defensively.

"Yeah, but still…"

"Or, we could simply transcribe this electronically," the Visser pointed out.

"Oh! Right!" Edriss smiled, still on edge.

He gingerly took the sheet from her as he demorphed. "I'll send this over to you once both the Sub-Visser and I have affixed our agreement to it. Get online," he commanded Essam, as soon as you can.

Within an hour, the notice was floating around cyberspace. Edriss had posted it, as they'd agreed that it would look suspicious coming from one of the leading ideologues.

But in the ensuing debate, neutrality would be hard to find.


	8. Florence Quits

_Author's note: one of the lines of dialogue here was actually taken from the original, as it was just too good to pass up. ;-)_

Nothing drastic was decided as the debates went on and wore down their participants. A comprehensive omnibus plan would, if all went according to precedent that seemed puny in comparison to the fisticuffs that had arisen, mark the end of the event. It had been anyone's guess beforehand whose version of strategy would take effect: the Sub-Visser's slow infiltration had been the default, but the Visser had proven himself a master tactician.

But once the debate had gotten off on some semblance of a track, Essam paled in comparison to Esplin. Stuttering and fumbling, he only maintained his appearance of having anything under control by Edriss's tireless assistance. As she grew weary, however, he became bitter and thankless. Those who could see how much work she was putting into a hopeless cause were unilaterally opposed to her endeavor, and made no attempt to help and sabotage their own chances of success. Essam was served by erratic underlings: the Visser sat atop an organized hierarchy, even if he wouldn't reveal it.

After more long but futile hours editing Essam's speeches, Edriss abruptly put them aside and knocked on his door. The contrast between him and Esplin had grown increasingly clear, and the conclusion at which she had arrived was no spontaneous decision, but a gradual realization. Nevertheless, enacting it could be. She had decided, instead, to forewarn Essam: a last concession to his neurotic whims.

"Who's there?" he barked.

"It's me," she said patiently.

"How do I know you're not the Visser in morph?"

Edriss gaped, not knowing how far the Sub-Visser had slipped out of reality. "I can tell you things about our past the Visser wouldn't know."

"No, you couldn't. He took it away, he destroyed us all. You're a spy for him, aren't you?"

"Essam!" she cried, still outside the door. "I would never!"

"That's right," he said after a moment's reflection. "You wouldn't. Come on in." He unbolted the door.

Relieved, she staggered in.

Essam slammed the door behind her: the force seemed to propel him away from it. "You couldn't spy for the Visser because you'd get caught! You're too pathetic to even work for me!"

Edriss had heard Essam get in moods before, but none as drastic as that. She reasoned that it might make her forthcoming announcement easier for him to take, but it might just as well make it harder. "I'm leaving." She carefully avoided saying when, or for how long.

"Oh no you're not. Not with my secrets."

"I would never betray any of our past, Essam!" she yelled. "It would incriminate me just as much as you."

"I'm not talking about that-I'm talking about my plan!"

"What plan?" she said soothingly.

"The plan!" he raged. "The plan that I have been working on for years! Decades, really."

"Less than one decade, and it's _our_ plan. Or was."

"Like I said, you're not going to give it to them."

"Of course not."

"So what _are_ you going to do?"

"Leave." The word tasted sour on her lips, but she would have to get used to it until she could get away. "As soon as this is over with."

"And if I pull it out? Without your incompetent help?"

"You can't, Essam. You've ruined your chances."

"_You've_ ruined me."

"I was _going_ to wait until we were done with this-I would have thought you'd be grateful for my help, as it's about all you're getting-but if you want me to head out now, I'd be more than happy to."

"Stay, then! Do you think I care?"

"Everything I thought about you for…years is falling apart! How can I know anymore?"

"It's just taken me this long to figure out the truth, hidden behind all your secrets. You're just as aggressive as the others-you only used me for your own power."

"I am not like the others." Edriss ignored his final charge.

"What makes you different?"

"I know how-" She changed her train of thought. "Everything we went through. Does that count for anything?"

"Not with you."

"With _you_, Essam! The gentle engineer that ran away with me? Where did he go?"

"He was naïve. You killed him, you and the other fighters."

"I am _not_ like them."

"Then stay with me."

"I can't, not the way you're acting."

"We'll be done soon. Then things will go back to normal."

"You'll _lose_ soon, and you'll be an outcast."

"I will if you desert me."

"You've deserted everything we stood for."

"You did first."

"I did not-look at us, Essam! How can you win the debate if you talk to me like this?"

"I counted on your help, all along."

"I counted on you. The "you" I used to believe in."

"I gave up on believing when you gave up on me."

"You betrayed my trust."

"It's my fault for not seeing clearly to begin with."

"You don't sound sorry."

"Oh, I am. I'm sorry you came to this." Edriss wouldn't have been surprised if the Sub-Visser had a Dracon beam on her or others aimed out of sight, but she opened, leapt out, and closed the door.

Without having turned to see her, Essam yelled: "Go away! Just get out!" Hearing nothing, he strained his neck to look over his shoulder.

Calmly, Edriss continued walking down the hallway, feeling as if she expressed any emotion she'd either lose control and break into a run-or, worse, break down and turn around.

"Be someone else's parasite!" he added bitterly.

There were too many forces arrayed against him, he knew, for him to make enemies casually. Most insults of his fellow Yeerks he could shrug off: they were immature, able to see only the most direct attack. A Hork-Bajir had more mentality, sometimes.

So it made Edriss's departure even more painful. She had been his longtime confidant, his one ally against a corrupt establishment. And he, in turn, would do anything for her: when they shattered Yeerk law, they did so together. At least up until now: while she had violated no precept, she had annihilated the relationship they had nourished. She had left him no way to exact revenge upon her: if she could be so flippant, he didn't know what he could do to destroy her.


	9. Embassy Lament

In the wake of the Visser's victory, the Earth spaceport was a bustling hub. Transports arrived brining advanced weapons and departed to send Controllers throughout the galaxy. Computers analyzed information on Andalite fleet movements. Technicians hustled about, overseeing it all.

It was the image of progress, a testament to the Yeerks' efficiency…except, of course, for the lowly Gedd-Controllers confirming departures. Theirs was a tedious business, consisting of double-checking other people's bureaucracy.

The Controller who arrogantly showed up, then, was not as intimidating to them as he might have been to younger, more impressionable, low-ranks. These Yeerks had seen it all: the brutality of battle, the boredom of better times. They had believed in their future promotion, and their dreams had been dashed. Innumerable superiors had had to wait for them before they could go any further. Whoever was strutting around like he owned the place didn't, and they were only happy to tell him that.

"Rr-well? What's your name?"

"E-uh-Sub-Visser One."

"You'rre not him," another Gedd, sharper-looking than the first, said. "He's on-rrr the way out."

"I know," said the Controller, trying to make a smile come to the lips of his human body. "That's why I took his rank."

"Verry cleverr." The first Gedd sounded as if that was not at all the case. "And yourr identification?"

"I told you, it's not in the system yet."

"Then I'm afrrraid you'll just rr-have to wait herrre."

"This is on special order of Sub-Visser 95."

"Rrand can she prove it?"

"Well, you've already let her on the spacecraft. I don't think she'll be very happy if you haul her back out."

The Gedd-Controllers laughed. Uppity Yeerks quickly learned who, in that microcosmic sliver of the universe, was in charge. "I don't think so eitherrr. Having herr time wasted by nobodies likerr you."

Inwardly seething, he struggled to maintain control: he was unused to managing a human face. "Humor me. Dig her out."

Reluctantly, one of the Gedds trekked into Edriss's spacecraft. She was indeed still a Sub-Visser, but rarely was referred to as such, due to the risk of confusing her with Esplin. But with his demotion, she was beginning to come into her own.

"Have we abandoned the warrr on Earrth orr what?" mused the remaining Gedd-Controller. "At the rrrate people want to get out of herrre…"

"Who wants to leave?" asked the loiterer.

"Everrrybody, it seems."

"I'm sure Visser Three has a plan."

The Gedd laughed again.

"Er, excuse me," the Controller said in a much edgier tone, "I need to…ah…I'm not used to having a human host, you see? This is new. If I can simply relieve him of his, uh, excretion?"

"Go rrright ahead. Wouldn't rr-want that sorrrt of thing in public."

He dashed off on ungainly human legs, but shortly returned, much more at ease, to the place he'd occupied.

"What arrre you doing herre?" deadpanned the Gedd.

"Waiting for Ed-admission to the ship!"

"You'll have torrr get back in line."

"I waited for-well, not hours-far too long to get through."

"Yourrr own fault forr not sticking around."

"As a direct superior, I command you-"

"Oh, and can you prrrove that you actually arrre a Sub-Visserrrr?"

"As soon as I get access to a computer-"

"But until then, you'rrrre not a superrriorr."

Fuming, he strode to the end of the line.

As the Gedd prepared to deal with the next Controller, Edriss finally emerged. "You said someone wanted to see me?" she snapped, looking around.

"He rrrealized that you werrre too busy to waste yourr time on him," the Gedd that had fetched her said confidently.

"I'm back here!" he called.

"Vait your turn," muttered a Nak-Controller in front of him, through a thick accent.

"I already did!"

"I just survived a ride through Z-space from ze Sstram homevorld."

"So? I outrank you."

"I am Visser Thirty-Eight," she smirked.

"Well, I'm-never mind," he sighed.

"Whoever you are, _I_ am Sub-Visser Ninety-Five," Edriss reminded them, "and I'm not interested in waiting on your childish conversations. We _are _engaged in a war." She marched back into the ship.

Restraining his fury, the Controller waited in line. Fortunately for him, it moved more quickly once the Gedds had settled into a rhythm of insulting the others in a way that didn't interfere with their work. "Afterrr all," as one put it, "the morre people come thrrrough, the morre we can rridicule merrcilessly."

At last, he returned to the front of the line. "Once again, Sub-Visser Ninety-Five has the necessary files."

"And once again, she has alrrready come out. We cerrtainly wouldn't want to botherr herrr any morre."

"If she's not interested in seeing me, why is she still here? Certainly she has important missions to accomplish…just like you, I'm sure."

"Ourrr mission is to make surre that no Andalite in morrph trries to sneak aboarrd these ships, so forrgive us if you'rre not trrreated with the highest priorrity," one snapped.

In spite of everything, the Controller laughed. "Of course. Wouldn't want to jeopardize imperial security."

Edriss was roused again, and angrily poked her head out. "What now?"

"I'm the new Sub-Visser One," he said nervously. "Visser Three assigned me here."

"Did he?" she asked critically. "I think I would have heard."

"Let me access your computer, the data should be in by now."

For an instant she looked even more confused, but recovered quickly. "I'd have to accompany you in order to give you clearance."

"Of course," he nodded.

She strutted into the ship, and he followed close behind.

The Gedds watched for a moment-something seemed slightly off-but quickly focused on the next Controllers. "How can rrr-I help you?"

A Hork-Bajir Controller started a reply in the Taxxon language, then switched to _Galard _halfway through. "Ssnrwee ssleeyer ashthess departing to contact Skrit Na?"

"Rright overr that way."

The other Gedd looked down at a computer monitoring all of the Z-space logs. "What was r-that?"

"Rr-what was what?"

He jabbed the screen.

"Someone just exited intorr Z-Space."

They looked at each other momentarily, worried.

"Next?"


	10. Anthem

As soon as the door closed, the Visser finished demorphing: as he hoped, his skin had already taken on a blue tinge pronounced enough for Edriss to notice, but not enough for the Gedds to see.

"That was too close," she fretted.

((I know what I'm doing,)) he replied sullenly, trotting past her.

She typed the coordinates of their destination into the computer. As they entered Z-Space, an archived image of the icy planet appeared on screen.

He made a fast circuit of the ship and was back quickly. While sweaty fur stuck out exuberantly, his voice was that of an old warrior. ((Any quarters for me?))

"No," Edriss replied witheringly. "It would have been somewhat suspicious to requisition a ship for two when there was one of me officially on it. And we don't have much that fits Andalites."

((We do, actually, or at least we used to.))

"Your own personal fleet?"

((No, the transports we seized early in the war. Don't you remember?))

"Not personally. But there's been more of a tendency towards Yeerk-produced ships. The weapons are better, and besides, we don't want to be seen as too…conciliatory, in this day and age."

((If an "Andalite-lover" can win those debates, I don't see why we can't use their ships. It's an intelligence victory: get inside their ships, and we can approach the insides of their minds. Even if actual access is limited.))

"Why's it such a big deal?"

((I was born in an Andalite transport.))

"Sorry. Hadn't known."

((It shouldn't be a big deal,)) he admitted objectively. ((But it's easy to miss.))

"I don't peruse your personal records."

((Not as in "overlook", as in "feel nostalgic for".))

"You don't seem the type to feel nostalgic for anything."

((It was easy, at any rate. I don't suppose I'll have anything that simple again. And safe.))

"And boring."

((It was the same as…itself. It was what it was, a piece of metal that sometimes had a pool of sludge inside. Now it's hard to be sure that anybody is what they claim.))

"Do you trust me?"

((Yes.))

The Visser waited edgily, assuming Edriss was going to reply, but she had already made her point. He strode along imperiously, hoping she wouldn't realize that he didn't know what he was doing. The ship remained just as small as it had when he boarded.

He accessed a computer and searched absentmindedly for records of ships acquired shortly prior to his spawning. The transports were indistinguishable, and he felt vaguely regretful for not remembering which identification number was assigned to his ship.

He shook the thought out of his mind-he was an officer, and had tasks to accomplish.

Of course, it was slightly difficult to accomplish them on a ship that one was not officially registered as occupying.

Ten ships fit the criteria to the best of his knowledge. He was able to narrow that to eight after a quick search of public records: as a high-ranking Visser, he had an entry in a secure database that included birthdate specifics. He had to use all his security clearance to dig any deeper: apparently, public knowledge of how many ships had been returned to Andalite control or destroyed would be dangerous to morale.

Of those eight, three had been destroyed and the other five replaced. The odds should have been in his favor, that whichever he had been born in was enjoying an honorable retirement, but he didn't quite believe it. Perhaps it was too long in the military that had given him a mindset of expecting the worst, but perhaps there was another factor to the equation. He should have been satisfied in the probability that his ship was still extant, if not in active service, with a newer model functioning instead. But was that really what he wanted? He, after all, was still young and on the rise, having outargued the Sub-Visser. To be linked to something already old and fading was not what he wanted. There was more allure in illumination against the darkness of space by a flash from an Andalite fighter for a brief instant, perhaps that of an already jaded warrior who, unlike an_aristh_, felt no hesitation of firing on what had once been his own peoples'-

What was he thinking? "Allure" held no merit to him.

Or perhaps, it was another's memory that he could not extricate from his own mind.

The odds, he knew, were against it. Yet he could not shake himself free of the image, the slightest possibility.

At the time of his birth, it truly had been something special. They were the first generation to be born in space, set free from the constraints of gravity, the stifling world of the Gedds. That was how their elders heralded them, as the children that would lead them into a glorious future. In reality, their life was monotonous enough. His poolmates were as diverse as any others, with just as many incompetents and underlings. Only more had perished in those first skirmishes.

He could have no true devotion to any lifeless object that had been turned from one side to another, but a sort of admiration was possible. He would never be skilled enough, objective enough, to see the universe from another dimension, with no bias to either side. But his ship could have done so. It had served its purpose, as a haven for those who would grow to kill each other, without condoning any of it, and passively accepted whatever fate befell it. It was not something he could emulate, but marveled at nonetheless.

The Andalites' system was quaint to him, but he was unaware of what he truly thought of it: striving to keep an open mind to his enemies' tactics, he never considered the disdain he actually felt. The transport had been constructed one component at a time, the tight families of his rivals each forging their specialization. From the diverse members of its creator race, the ship grew, and it was their best and brightest that would ensure it did not benefit their opposition.

Of course, he remembered the planet he had just departed far more vividly than the ship, and the triumphs he had exacted would always shine within his memory. But both the complex world and the simple pool had forged his identity, and he could ask for nothing more if he was never to see either of them again.


	11. BangkokOne Night In Bangkok

_So yeah, "Chess" was on the other night and...I got inspired to work on this! The first few paragraphs aren't necessarily true--I came up with this idea, and you can read more in "The Anati Chronicles". Enjoy! Welcome, or welcome back!_

Long before the Yeerk's ancestors had climbed out of the primordial ooze—quite literally, in their case—a species had evolved in a star system on the far side of the galaxy. It had evolved from lumbering behemoths into sentient individuals. And then, its homeworld's orbit distorted by the work of an asteroid and its malevolent manipulator, the race had nearly been destroyed. The pride of the planet perished. Had it not been for another interstellar visitor, all would have died.

As it was, only outcasts survived. Some escaped, doomed to immortality on a planet far from home. Others remained, culling themselves to keep the limitless population down, only to be infested by Yeerks eons later.

Their home was frigid and unforgiving. Nevertheless, the austere exterior, seen from a distance, sparkled with beauty.

From such a distance did Essam approach it. Its distant sun was so far away at apsis that even the glittering white surface could not reflect enough light to hurt his eyes. The gleaming metal of a hastily-erected Yeerk spaceport was more dazzling: even on such a backward world, the Empire could, and did, rapidly grow.

At the time, the generation had felt as long as it was humiliating. But even reflecting on everything that had happened since the conference had ended, it seemed like it was only a moment ago. The Anati's planet was far starker than Earth...but it was no less exotic.

While Essam had never visited the upcoming conference's site before, he had read the Imperial data files. His host body could not survive too long outside without special protection: good to know. There were few native species of which to be aware—the general sustenance for the hosts was a slight variant of a native strain of moss—but very few animals, and nothing else infestable. That was all he needed to know.

But that was nothing compared with what some of the Anati-Controllers wanted to show him.

"Welcome, Under-Visser!" said an ingratiating low-rank as he exited the transport ship. Essam had fallen far from grace.

"Hello," he said curtly. "Where am I supposed to go?"

"Supposed? The conference will not begin for another rotation of this planet. Why not visit one of the new pools we've installed? The natural tundra has enabled us to minimize—"

"Where am I supposed to go?" he repeated.

"Ah. Yes. The sixth floor, Under-Visser." The Controller pointed to an elevator shaft at the far end of the complex.

Essam had almost reached it when he was interrupted by another Anati-controller. The place was teeming with them—weren't they supposed to be Class Three? "Under-Visser Nine?"

"That's me."

"You'll be analyzing this online?"

"Yes."

"Welcome! I don't suppose you'd like to try infesting an Anati for a while?"

"There are hardly enough to waste for frivolous purposes, are there?"

"Well, you could tell the galaxy what it's like."

"They have their own ways of finding out, we can all access the computers."

"The Anati will become Class Five within a generation or two, Under-Visser!"

"Is that so? I wasn't aware that the breeding projects were anything close to successful?"

"That's only because these host brains don't have clear memories of a standard reproductive process."

"The DNA is accessible, no?"

"If cloning was possible, we'd all be walking around in Andalites!"

"I doubt the esteemed Visser would relinquish his monopoly so easily," Essam muttered. Visser Three had emerged from the Earth debates fully in control of galactic tactics...but only temporarily. Many of his onetime underlings, disenchanted by his sudden departure, had shifted their support to Sub-Visser Fifty-Four, Temar or Etmash or somebody. While no less confrontational than the Visser, Sub-Visser Fifty-Four focused not on planetary action but space conquests, with the aim of capturing Andalite vessels...and technology.

"We're making great progress, though. There's a team of scientists analyzing data from Yeerk reproductive systems."

"Hard to get much feedback on the process," Essam quipped, "as it's a once-in-a-lifetime experience."

The Anati-Controller did not seem to appreciate the pun, and he took advantage of her momentary confusion to enter the shaft and ascend to the sixth floor.

She had been difficult to shake off, but his humor was even harder to escape. Treasonous though it may have been, he had firsthand experience with the reproductive process among hosts. He should have put that behind him, but Visser Three would, of course, be at this debate. And, at least for the past generation, where Visser Three was, Edriss tended to be also.

There were plenty of reasons to envy the Visser, but—oddly enough—his power was not one of them. This was a bizarre environment to be jockeying for power, and it was bad enough for him. Who knew what the Visser would be going through? Had Essam naturally had lips, they would have curled upwards.

The fact that they could arrange to host the conference on such an out-of-the-way planet like the Anati homeworld should have been good news. The Empire was expanding; a generation previous, the planet wouldn't have been safe enough. But the Andalites couldn't break through these defenses...could they?

His quarters, while luxurious, were stocked with food native to the planet, and odious for his host body. "Don't you have anything worth eating?" he raged at the first low-rank he ran across.

"Is the moss not satisfying?" he moronically replied. "I find it simply eck...exquy...exquisite."

"It seems to be producing adverse effects on your host body. As it would mine."

"Oh, no, thassimply thizz...bevreg I drunk. You can've some?" The Controller motioned towards the shaft; the carousing must have been taking place on a different floor. One which Essam planned to avoid as soon as he discovered which one it was.

"No thank you." Essam returned to his quarters. Just because the Empire had expanded this far was no excuse to slack off.

Still, considering all he'd been through, he had things pretty good. As long as ridiculous Anati-Controllers were all he had to worry about, things would be fine.


	12. Heaven Help My Heart

Though they'd both been stationed on Earth at the same time, Visser Three remembered little of the Yeerk that was threatening him for leadership. A Human-Controller, the data files reported, one who'd been more involved with The Sharing. One of Essam's underlings, then? A coward?

No, it wasn't fair for him to judge all of them that way. That's what he'd thought of Edriss at first, nothing more than a sniveling traitor who wanted credit for a species that he'd discovered. And—though he would admit it to no one but her—he had been happy to be proven horribly wrong.

Perhaps she could be a useful resource. ((Did you know Sub-Visser Fifty-Four?)) He rose from the computer, his main eyes meeting hers while his stalk eyes roved restlessly throughout their temporary quarters.

"In The Sharing? Yes, he was always very ambitious. He had a couple host bodies, but most recently a young human. So it was difficult for him to get to some of our meetings without raising suspicions."

((But easy for him to get to another planet?))

"He's in a Hork-Bajir for now."

Visser Three trotted restlessly around. ((It seems like anybody can get here these days.))

"Everyone wants to come," Edriss murmured. "To get ahead, to watch, just to be in the know."

((But Under-Visser Nine? Surely he has no chance of getting "ahead"!)) Essam had undergone a series of demotions, and had not been placed in a command position for the last generation.

"He doesn't. You don't need to worry about him."

((I suppose.)) Esplin turned back towards his computer.

"What do you need that for? You just checked it!"

((I'm supposed to be meeting with Visser Thirty-Five right now. He hasn't checked in yet.))

Edriss sighed. "I'm sure the computer will let you know when he does."

((Just let me adjust the settings.)) He bent down, typing at the controls. ((This would be so much faster if I could use thoughtspeak.))

"Let Sub-Visser Fifty-Four go steal some technology for you," Edriss teased.

The Visser glared at her with his stalk eyes while his main eyes focused even harder on the keyboard. ((There. Now it will notify me when Visser Thirty-Five logs on. He said he would support me during the debates, we need to coordinate our timing.))

Edriss tried to change the subject. "Have you inspected the new defense systems?"

((I've seen the drafts. They should be fine, assuming they actually got built properly.))

"I'm sure they did."

Visser Three suddenly seemed to focus intently on nothing at all. ((That's a good point,)) he finally said—Edriss couldn't tell who he was addressing. As if suddenly noticing her, he elaborated: ((Maybe it's for the best that Essam is here. The more useless low-ranks there are, the less the Andalites will know what we're doing. If they think that this is a "civilian" as much as a military gathering, they'll be less inclined to attack. Foolish morals.))

"Hopefully."

The computer beeped. ((Finally!)) Visser Three read the message on the screen. ((Ah, good. He was just bringing Sub-Visser Five over to our side, she'll be there too. And...let's see...someone else wants to talk with me afterwards. Well, I'll see you when it's done?))

"Of course. I'll be right here."

((Good.)) His host's eyes sparkled as he left—the simplest of gestures, yet Edriss had to tighten her grip on Eva's body to keep from reacting. How could he respect her as an individual if a waving stalk eye saw her so easily pleased by another?

She flopped down on the uncomfortable Anati furniture. Visser this and Sub-Visser that—_she_ was a Sub-Visser too, but nobody came to _her_ for tactical advice anymore.

But while the young Sub-Visser who had left Olgin in search of a Class Five species so long ago might not have understood, she hardly missed that part of life. It had been a wonderful generation, if not one that she had expected. And had someone asked her at that moment for a detailed strategy to reorganize logistics on the Taxxon homeworld, for instance, or increase Hork-Bajir numbers, she wouldn't necessarily have been up to the challenge. Life was too confusing just then.

Eva tried to say something, but Edriss blocked her out. The last thing she wanted was to go riffling through somebody else's mind.

_Sympathy for a host species?_ a worn-out memory teased her. It was not treason but gratitude; the relief that nobody could access _her_ thoughts so easily. What if Esplin could? It was a ridiculous fear—it shouldn't have been a fear at all—but a chilling one nonetheless. She could imagine all too well him sorting through her past experiences, learning all her ambitions, her deepest truths. Some of it could seem humiliating, yes, but he was no fool. He knew that she and Essam had been close. He wouldn't need to know any more.

No, it was the small surprises that would be a shame to see go. How he had laughed when she had filled one of the long rides through Z-space by explaining how she taught Andalite harmonic theory to Allison Kim! Or how she had confessed that Hollywood had originally seemed the most important of human cities...though it took him some time to understand human society well enough to understand the humor of the situation. The fragments of her past, the quirks of her present, her yearnings for the future—tantalizing nuggets all, to be revealed one at a time.

But whether Esplin hypothetically devoured them all at once or she rationed them out to the very last moment, they would run out one day. And when they did? When the novelty of her company wore off? He would, Edriss knew, quickly grow bored.

It couldn't have been any better, though. Nobody knew less of her to begin with than Visser Three. There was nothing to do but to make sure their time together lasted as long as she could make it. And to savor all of it.


	13. Argument

Visser Three confidently took his leave of Visser Thirty-Five and Sub-Visser Five. He was supposed to...come to think of it, he didn't know whom he was supposed to meet. Should he have brought someone with him? Did he need to get a Dracon beam?

No, Andalite assassins wouldn't announce their presence through Yeerk computing channels. And his Andalite body would serve him as well as anything.

So he unconcernedly strolled to an airy, semi-private chamber that seemed to be registered to a high-ranking Anati-Controller. "Hello!" called the jovial Yeerk. "Thank you so much for coming by."

((Why am I here?))

"There are lots of Yeerks who can't make it out here."

_And one I wish couldn't_, the Visser thought.

"We'd appreciate it if you could just answer some questions for a live transmission. Keep people up-to-date with what's going on."

((Just this once? And you won't interrupt me once the debates get under way?))

"Of course not."

((Well, I suppose.))

"Wonderful!" smiled the Anati. "If you'll just go in there?" He nodded towards a small enclosure, though big enough for advanced holographic recording equipment. Including a psychophone for recording thoughtspeak. Sub-Visser Fifty-Four would have been proud.

Dubiously, Esplin entered. The remaining space was hardly big enough for an Anati...

but it was not an Anati who faced him.

"Hello," smiled Under-Visser Nine. "Nice to see you."

((What are you doing here?)) the Visser hissed.

"Recording you. Shh, we're about to go...live. I'm here with Visser Three, the controversial commander who'll be hoping to maintain control of overall tactics after the Generational Convention here on the Anati homeworld. Now, last convention wasn't so straightforward, I understand? What happened after your unexplained departure?"

((I had no use to linger any longer than necessary once I finished my business on Earth. I had tasks to complete across the galaxy.)) There was plenty that had happened that he wouldn't have minded telling Essam about, but he didn't want to goad him. The sooner the conversation was over, the better.

"I see. It must be a stressful occupation?"

((I haven't broken yet.)) Esplin concentrated on sending a thoughtspeak message directly to Essam, that the psychophone couldn't pick up. ((Though I've seen the stress get to other commanders. Really quite a shame how they break down.))

Fuming, Essam asked, "Yet it surely helps to delegate your work to subordinates."

((Any great bureaucrat knows that,)) the Visser self-deprecatingly replied before privately adding ((The less-great ones overburden their assistants.))

"I'm speaking, of course, of Edriss Five-Six-Two, who's been often seen on planets where you're working."

((Sub-Visser Ninety-Five is an exceptionally competent assistant. I'm glad for her counsel.)) The seething Visser privately hissed, (Now if you don't have any relevant questions for me, I will be leaving.))

"Well," Essam feigned a smile, "while there are many opinions about your leadership capacity, no being in the galaxy doubts your military genius. Do you recognize this beast?"

((Who, you?)) Esplin said too quietly for the psychophone to pick up.

But an image was forming behind them, one that was also being transmitted to viewstations across the Empire. A young Andalite, eyes fierce and challenging.

((Yes.))

"Would you mind telling the galaxy who it is?"

((Yes, I would,)) he privately retorted before announcing ((Elfangor-Sirinial-Shamtul.)) The warrior—or was he a prince now? Esplin could never be sure—had given Esplin plenty of headaches over the generations. He only hoped he had given just as many in return.

"The very Elfangor whose fighter, along with plenty more Andalite vessels, has emerged in the outer asteroid belt of this system?"

((There are Andalites in this system and you're standing here asking me ridiculous questions?)) Without giving Essam time for an answer, the Visser turned and galloped out of the makeshift studio.

"Wh-" began the Anati-Controller, but it was too late. Esplin was long gone.

_Be rational_, he tried to tell himself. There were competent enough soldiers working the defense systems. There was nothing to be gained from showing up. No, he had told Edriss he would return to her.

So he went back to their quarters. Edriss was as fixated with the computer as he had been. Rather than check the accumulating messages he was receiving, though, she stared at the images of Andalite ships emerging from Z-Space.

((Edriss?)) he said gently.

"What's going on?"

((Edriss? Could...could I use the computer?))

She wordlessly got up and returned to the furniture she had been sprawling upon.

Esplin browsed the messages—a couple of Under-Vissers wanting his help with the Andalites.

"What's going on?"

((I know as little as you do. A squadron of Andalite ships just popped out of Z-Space on the other side of the system. They probably won't get here until after we've left, they've never risked time dil-))

"I know how fast Andalite fighters move."

((Elfangor is leading them. I've fought him before, I might be able to predict what he'll do next.))

"You belong here."

Stalk eyes whirling in every direction, Esplin steeled himself. ((Yes. Yes, it's no use fighting with idiots in power. Once the Sub-Visser shuts up, we can take care of the Andalites.))

"Who do you mean by "we"?"

((I'll let the security forces deal with it for now. Afterwards, I can handpick who I want in charge. Or maybe I'll just stay here and take care of it.)) He glanced at the messages, looking for the specific ranks of the Under-Vissers who had contacted him. ((Under-Visser Six and Nineteen...whose side are they on?))

"I've never met either of them."

He typed feverishly, searching for information about them. ((Can't tell. But maybe they're just doing this to distract me...yes, seeing as it's Elfangor. I don't have the time to be preoccupied with somebody _else's_ mind!))

His stalk eyes faced the wider quarters. It took them a moment to focus on Eva's face. It took him a moment longer to parse it, and realize he had said something wrong.


	14. I Know Him So Well

((I'm sorry,)) Esplin muttered half-heartedly.

Edriss said nothing.

((I need to focus. I need to be somewhere else. You can stay here...)) The quarters he had were arguably the most luxurious available for the visitors.

Esplin walked over to the computer, quickly but not frantically, and began typing at it.

"What are you doing?"

((Disabling access to my private files. I'll be able to access them from anywhere, but you can use this system as long as you're here.))

He strode to the door. ((Just until we're finished, you understand? I'll come back.))

"I understand," Edriss hollowly replied.

((Good.))

He left nervously, not quite sure whether it was the best way to clear his head, but showed no sign of indecision.

Edriss glanced at the computer he had been altering, then walked over and tested it. Everything seemed to work properly, which she had on some level expected. He would walk out on her, yes, but not _maliciously_. The holobroadcast window was still open; Elfangor's image still loomed above the place where Esplin had so recently stood.

She couldn't have expected anything more. Longer, maybe, but not so much longer that it would matter.

Perhaps she had achieved more than she expected? It was not her staleness that had driven them apart. She was still an enigma to him, still a mystery that he would always be too dull to truly understand. But he, on the other hand...she understood him well enough. Enough to be disappointed, regretful, bitter...but not surprised.

While his archived image hung lifelessly in the air, the real Prince Elfangor was all business. ((Excuse me, _aristh_.))

((Apologies, Prince!)) called the small Andalite, moving out of the way in the Dome Ship's hallway.

((Can you help me?))

((M-me?))

((Yes. I'd like you to find all the data you can about the Yeerk defense personnel. Not the weapons—we'll defeat whatever crude contraptions they have set up—but which Yeerks, specifically, are in charge.))

((How can I do that, sir?))

((Oh, I'm sure you'll come up with something.)) At the cadet's dubious gaze, Elfangor clarified, ((Data security has never stopped previous generations of _arisths._))

Amused, the young Andalite took off on his mission.

Elfangor paced through the Dome ship's hallways. Perhaps the assignment had not been strictly moral, but no creatures in the galaxy were better at hacking than adolescents of any species.

Little of the data he could find would be useful, of course, but anything was better than nothing. Let others worry about the technical details; he had a feud to settle.

From what they could tell, Visser Three was facing some internal challenge that the summit was meant to resolve. He might well be too busy to defend the base firsthand. Then again, he might also be giving the ultimate decisions.

It all depended on how much control he, personally, was exercising. Too little, and perhaps the Andalites could take advantage of an inexperienced commander. Too much, and perhaps Elfangor could use the Visser's own strategies against him. They had fought each other time and again, each time more efficiently as they learned to predict what the other would do next.

But the _aristh _would have been just as effective on the homeworld as he would in space. Though they'd crossed the galaxy, there were just as many gaps in the Andalites' knowledge—though fewer each day.

While both adversaries had come close to destroying the other, neither could have a better opportunity than Elfangor had had, well before Visser Three was even a Visser. What would the galaxy be like had he been less enchanted by notions of honor? The speculation was futile, not something on which to waste time. Still, every now and then Elfangor couldn't help but wonder.

Edriss was similarly pensive. Essam had more than proven himself when they'd first landed on Earth, full of brilliant ideas and able to execute them. But could she have taken some more control, or at least started parallel plans to supplement his? Perhaps he wouldn't have changed so drastically. Maybe he'd—maybe _they'd—_still be in charge, and Visser Three no more than the arrogant Andalite-Controller they'd be called upon to silence once in a while.

Yet she felt too numb for sadness, as if she'd made the right decision without knowing it.

Later, Elfangor saw the _aristh_ nervously walk towards the bridge. ((Prince Elfangor?)) he asked.

((Yes?))

((I-I have the data for you.))

((Wonderful.)) He followed the cadet back to his tiny quarters.

((This was all I found.)) The _aristh_ indicated a document on his tiny computer. ((I sort of had to piece it together and get rid of the worst contradictions. I'm not positive this is all right, but it's the best I can do.))

((That's fine, thank you.)) Elfangor silently commanded the ship's computer to copy the files to his own. ((Well done.))

He walked away calmly, allowing the _aristh_ to bask in the praise, and accessed the data from his own chambers. Nobody he'd ever heard of, though the _aristh_ had gone to the trouble of digging up all publicly-accessible data on them. They seemed a fairly average crowd, though for every Yeerk shooting at him there were many more behind the scenes, and many more swimming in pools, urging on the invasions.

He had included the original data, not just the youth's synthesis, and was quickly glad he had. The "master list" that the _aristh_ had produced was riddled with inaccuracies too subtle for him to spot, but glaring to Elfangor's keener mind. Until they got closer to the planet, there was nothing better to do than try and come to his own conclusions; finding some grand, overarching pattern was a noble goal for the young, but he knew better than that.

There would be an element of uncertainty to every battle, with factors outside any of their control. Still, under the circumstances, Elfangor felt hopeful as the fleet closed in on the Anati homeworld. In spite of the holes in their knowledge, he understood his nemesis as well as anyone did.

Almost anyone.


	15. The Deal No Deal

_Author's note: Just wanted to remind you that the opinions of my characters are, of course, not necessarily mine. Essam implies some derogatory things about foster care in this chapter, and I don't want you to take this as an OOC message. Thanks, and, as always, thank you for reading!  
_

Essam was confused.

There was Visser Three, supposedly the greatest general of the generation. Sub-Visser Fifty-Four wasn't doing much to disprove that assertion; after only two days of discussion, the Visser's mind was keener than ever and the Sub-Visser was floundering. Esplin had the resources of the Empire at his disposal.

So what was he doing entering some dingy low-rank's quarters that any Yeerk worth their Dracon beam could walk into?

Perhaps whatever he was doing would be enough to convince Edriss that he was unfaithful. Emboldened, Essam entered a passcode at the door, opened it up, and calmly stepped inside.

((What are you doing here?))

"Relax! I'm here to talk to you."

((Yes, our last conversation ended so well.))

"It's not about either of us. It's about..." Essam nervously scanned the room, but didn't notice anybody else. "Edriss."

((What about her?)) glared the Visser.

"We..." Essam forced his host body to breathe slowly. "Back when we were on Earth, long before you came-" The Visser's tail blade twitched, but he said nothing. "We set up a plan. A plan that would take many generations to come to fruition."

He paused. ((And this concerns me how?))

"One moment, Visser. I have been monitoring the situation on Earth, and the project is almost ready. Believe me, nothing would give Edriss more satisfaction than knowing that this is complete."

((And so you came to me to inform me about this new weapon, so that it might be put to the services of the Empire? What a loyal Yeerk you are! Perhaps I should recommend you for a promotion.))

"It has nothing to do with me, Visser. I'm only concerned about Edriss. The plan is incredibly sensitive, and one mistake could jeopardize it."

((Edriss is not here.))

"Visser, your schemes are growing out of control. Some of the free humans already seem aware of our presence."

((Humans have many myths and rumors. This is harmless.))

"If the situation on Earth grows too volatile, our plan will be destroyed. Edriss's dream will be destroyed."

((I know exactly how to manage the situation on Earth.))

"While Sub-Visser Fifty-Four knows exactly how to manage the situation in the whole galaxy."

((He's done a poor job of demonstrating it.))

"You're an exceptional fighter. You can pilot any ship in the fleet, you can morph creatures that no Andalite could resist. Why are you concerned about bossing useless low-ranks around?"

((Why were you?))

"You need to stand aside, Visser. For Edriss, if nothing else."

((Who are you working for, _dapsen_?))

"What are you implying?"

"_Don't they have _any_ decent sustenance in this place?" the other Controller had muttered the night before, critically eying a pile of moss._

"_You can deal with your host body later," said Under-Visser Nine. "What do you want?"_

"_The same thing as you. Power. Safety. A competent leader."_

_Essam smirked. "Do I qualify as "competent"?"_

"_Not yet. You can prove yourself, though."_

"_How so?"_

"_You know what Esplin is going through better than we do. Get to him, get him out of the way. As quietly as possible, much as it pains me to suggest."_

_Essam smiled. "I'm not quite sure what he's going through...but I know how to get to him."_

"_That's fine," said Efflit. "Whatever works."_

((I am implying,)) Visser Three said, ((that you should leave this room before I report you for unauthorized access.))

"I'm just as authorized to be here as you are."

((The data files would suggest otherwise.))

"The security system let me in with the passcode."

((Yes, and as your superior, I can order you to leave.))

Since Essam had another hope, he wasn't going to risk humiliation by pressing the issue any further. "Consider my offer!" he pleaded, backing out.

((I consider it ridiculous.)) Esplin slammed the door.

Back to his original plan, then—the Visser's original quarters. Getting inside would be more of a hassle, but he had a chance.

A short shaft ride later, Essam knocked on the locked door. "Who is it?" Edriss called.

"Edriss, I'm sorry."

"Leave me alone!"

"Is Visser Three here?"

There was silence as Edriss walked to the door, unsure if he was trying to manipulate her. "He's meeting with some subordinates right now."

"Come with me. I've learned from my mistakes, I'll do better this time. I shouldn't have treated you like I did, it was my fault. Let me make it up to you."

"Take your blathering somewhere else."

She was less compromising than he'd expected, and he was down to his last resort. "I found the children."

"What?" She opened the door.

"They're together, on Earth. Being raised by different humans for temporary periods. It's not a healthy system, Edriss, we need to do something."

She stood at the edge of the door for a long moment. "No," she finally said. "You're still as ignorant as you were a generation ago."

"Edriss, I can't do it alone. I need your help."

"You're just trying to influence my emotions. It won't work. I'm stronger than you think." She backed away and closed the door.

Perhaps in time her memories of him would have faded until he seemed no more than a onetime ally, a longtime companion, who'd helped her get so far before she'd moved on to better things. But instead, the memories of his descent into neurosis were suddenly raw once again.

Still, she felt a certain pride in having quashed his ravings, even if she wasn't so strong as to be totally unaffected by his sudden reappearance. She could handle him.

She had no way of knowing that, several stories above her, Visser Three was feeling the same pride, and that for one moment they were as close as they had ever been.


	16. Pity The Child

Yeerks reproduced in threes, decaying as their offspring were created. Essam 293 was the child of three unassuming low-ranks who had been born well before the war and were out of place during it—to say nothing of time. His siblings, by and large, were complacent with life, few aspiring to higher ranks.

Once he realized this, even if he couldn't articulate it, he spent as little time in the pool as possible. He would access every data file he could find, regardless of what it was portraying. His poolmates didn't seem as interested in it as he was, but he didn't mind. It meant more time with his palps plugged in.

He thought that his first time inhabiting a Gedd wouldn't be very different from the computer, but it made the simulation feel like the Yeerk pool. He was in utter control, able to walk about and change his points of view. More than that, he had access to another being's thoughts! Primitive ones, but nevertheless the most stimulating moment of his life.

But after that, he had to return to the vicarious digital world. He spent far more time there than his siblings; whenever they had a question about the computers, they came to him for advice. Once he got his first long-term host, a Taxxon, he naturally chose to train as a technician. As soon as he began study, he realized that all of his "expertise" was trivial. Still, he pressed on, quickly attaining certification.

Nearly as soon as he made Under-Visser, he was transferred to out-of-the-way Anmar base. Two of his sisters were also transferred there, but they were as shortsighted as they'd been in the pool, settling in without further aspirations. There was little for him to discuss with them; "It's really a shame our twin brothers were Draconed for treason by incompetence" didn't make good pool conversation.

The base was worthless, and all the technical ability in the world wouldn't get him out. He doggedly retrained as a pilot, flying transport ships through Z-Space. Menial work, but he did it well. Soon enough, he was occupying a Hork-Bajir, and had been promoted to Sub-Visser Three-hundred-ninety-one.

It was on (or, arguably, slightly above) the moon of Cerba that the incident occurred. Essam had flown a ship to the quiet moon, where he outranked all but two of the Yeerks assigned, some time previously. But a Zero-space rift between Cerba and the Yeerk-controlled planets was widening, and he was happy to stay temporarily. If nothing else, it was better than Anmar. With his technical services in little need, Essam was assigned to atmosphere patrol duty.

The Desbadeen vessel taking off was inconsequential enough. It had stopped by from beyond the Empire to trade for food, with several of its _limner _crew entering the pool to get said food. Like the Skrit Na, the Desbadeen were unfit to infest because of their drastic metamorphoses; while the _limner _were sleek quadrupeds, the _carapa_ were barely mobile. The two forms were segregated as much as possible, which led to their inefficient ship designs. While they made nice mercenaries, they did not need to be conquered, and were officially considered neutral.

The Desbadeen promptly paid for their sustenance. The captain—a _limner_, of course—notified Essam that several Hork-Bajir Controllers, who had previously volunteered to help the Desbadeen carry their food out to the ship, had chosen to travel aboard it and would be disembarking elsewhere in the system. He had no reason to interfere with the neutrals' business, and let them depart.

It was only later that day that several well-fed Yeerks realized that their hosts were missing. The Desbadeen were long gone, and Essam took the fall. Demoted to Under-Visser, he was sent to the dead end of Olgin base.

He was treated like a new recruit despite his experience, forced to put up with Sub-Visser Four-hundred-nine's indoctrination. She seemed to delight in nothing except flaunting her power, never mind that some of her students had formerly outranked her. While most of his peers were hapless low-ranks, there were several others like him, who had gone from being moderately-powerful Yeerks to _hopeless_ low-ranks. He could have easily followed them, tolerating the stifling bureaucracy, apathetic to the future of the Empire. His life would have been quieter. Safer.

He didn't.

He made friends, or pretended to, as many as he could. There were few on Olgin base who had the power to send him elsewhere, but their allies could. And Sub-Visser Four-hundred-nine? Perhaps her frustration was not with him and the other recruits, but with the system that was wasting her ability.

He saw her access the computer files, analyzing the path of a Skrit Na vessel. Casually, he volunteered any help he could offer. Some time later, she asked him if he could write some programs for her, finding optimal conditions for life in systems near the trajectory. Always politely, never asking what she was doing, he helped her search.

Edriss came to him after a meeting with an indolent double-digit Sub-Visser more dejected than he'd ever seen her. He asked no questions, simply promised to help in any way he could. By the time night fell upon Olgin, they were deep in Z-space.

His navigation was flawless, but no being could outfly the burgeoning dimensions of Z-space. By the time they emerged into the first system they wanted to visit, their host bodies were a feeding cycle away from dehydration. It had been a long journey, with more than enough time to research, as he had impulsively done, their would-be impediment to progress...and their catalyst to begin the voyage.

It made perfect sense, in retrospect. His sisters were nothing if not chatty. They knew plenty of Yeerks, and one of them had known enough Yeerks in power to rise to the rank of Sub-Visser Seventeen.

Yet while Essam 293's formative generations had been trying, nothing in them had broken his spirit as utterly as he felt on the Anati planet.


	17. Endgame

The chambers were temperature-controlled for obvious reasons, but Visser Three would have hardly minded going outside for a while. Not too long, but the cold seemed to clear his head. Make him focus.

The Hork-Bajir homeworld had seen Adner 4911 the Greater rise to prominence; the Mak's dark moon introduced the galaxy to Under-Visser Seven (Keslar 102). Visser Nine, Elhak 941, had smooth-talked on Sstram; Poter 376 impressed in an Ongachic space station. The Visser's task was simple: to ensure that the Sub-Visser entering the chambers would never be mentioned in their company.

For once in a very long while, Efflit appeared relaxed. He had done everything he could, rehearsed all his speeches, and, short of exercising his trigger-happy reflexes, there was little left to worry about. In the worst-case scenario, the status quo would be maintained, and there would be plenty more fighting to do. Essam would be pleased, of course, but nothing in life was perfect.

"You'll give me your time, then?" he asked quietly.

"Do I give it to _you_?"

"Why not. Unless you have something coherent to say?"

Essam laughed. "I'm glad to be out of this business."

"But yes, give it to me and not him. You never know who'll like the illusion of many of us all working together for the good of the Empire."

Edriss took a seat near the back. Realistically, little would change for her however the proceedings went. Her career had stagnated, and nothing would jolt it back into action. Nevertheless, she hoped that the Visser would be calmer after it was all over. More focused, where he needed to be.

He seemed perfectly calm as he began speaking, however. The people who mattered had agreed on most of the important issues, but several still needed clarifying.

"The planetary defense systems?" Sub-Visser Fifty-Four challenged. "They're a drain on our resources."

((Better to have them and not need them than the other way around.))

"The Andalites are trapped. There's no chance they'll move against the homeworld."

((There are plenty of other planets that aren't as secure.))

"Are you referring to the squadron on the far outskirts of this system?"

((That's an obvious example, though I meant in general...))

But point by point, Esplin dismantled every argument with which he was presented. The questions would come in shifts; some from Efflit, some from Sub-Visser Fifty-Four. Until they came less and less frequently.

((Our transport ships must obviously be deployed more frequently to the Taxxon homeworld. We don't know when it'll get as close as it used to be, and we can't sit around waiting for it to. We must act now.))

"We _can't_ act now," Efflit responded. "Next generation it might be Earth that's farther away. Why not improve our Z-space engines so this isn't an issue?"

((It will always be an issue! And we always take care of it because we have to, the budget is designed to compensate for this.))

Efflit tried to speak, but somebody else had speaking rights. He looked around, confused.

"Staff all battle stations! I repeat, execute defense procedures!"

Some Controllers looked around, panicking. Visser Three galloped towards the security headquarters.

"They've destroyed the sensors! We have to do that manually!"

"Abort direct missle launch!"

"What's going on?"

"Visser! What should we do?"

((Follow the procedures as they've been outlined.))

"I can't fly this fighter! Someone take over remote control!"

Things were a bit _too_ organized; everyone meant to be deployed was deployed, and none of the most skilled personnel could spare their energy on the remote control. ((I'll do it.))

There was a time delay between his quick reactions and the fighter's movement, but he quickly compensated. ((Someone turn on a visual display.))

An Under-Visser hastily configured a viewscreen. The Visser "piloted" a Bug fighter from the planet's surface into the atmosphere, evading Andalite fire.

((Computer, secondary hologram of all vessels in region.))

There was no response, of course. Non-defense Controllers nervously looked around, wondering what was going on. But a low-rank who had been watching the discussion quickly turned on the desired graphic.

As he shot Dracon beams at the Andalite ships, the Visser swiveled his stalk eyes to the hologram, trying to gauge their overall formation. ((Elfangor _did_ design this.))

The prince had indeed, but couldn't stop it from crumbling apart. ((Retreat to the Dome ship!)) he barked over the intership radio.

Warriors were quick to respond. ((What happened?))

((Retreat? What do you mean?))

((They're better prepared than we expected,)) Elfangor explained. ((We can't keep this up.))

((Most of the fighters are still functional.))

((Not enough. We planned this attack, we should be doing better than this. And we didn't plan to have this many out of commission, this quickly.))

((We still have—)) The warrior broke off, returning fire to a Yeerk ship that had damaged his.

((Back to the Dome ship, you insubordinate fools!))

The functional Andalite fighters retreated, and the Dome ship inched closer to the fray to pick up those that could no longer fly. "They're retreating!" crowed a low-rank. "Can we pursue them?"

((Pursue them? You fool, this is a defensive base! By the time we effectively mobilized, they'd be out of range.))

"But we have so many ships here, everyone is—"

((Enough.)) The Visser turned all four eyes to Sub-Visser Fifty-Four, who had just arrived. ((Not so dismissive of the planetary systems now, are you?)) he announced for the whole room to hear.

From then on, there was no true debate. Some minor points were clarified, but Visser Three was clearly in charge. The flight path and weapons log of the fighter he had remotely piloted were immediately downloaded to every pool for students to examine and marvel at, the transcripts of the discussions sent from computer to computer. The Empire had found a general to acclaim.

Elfangor stood on the bridge of the _MindSong_, noting the returning Andalites. Several warriors had been injured during the battle, but were able to morph _djabalas_ and demorph to heal. One by one, he confirmed that they were still alive.

Yet something felt out of place.

((That _aristh._ Where is he?))

((What _aristh_?))

((The one assigned to this ship!)) Elfangor frantically ran to the quarters, pounding on the door. No answer. The dome too was vacant.

He remembered boarding his own fighter, the scramble of Andalites to climb on their own. There were purposefully superfluous fighters so warriors could transfer from damaged ones, had the battle gone somewhat more as planned. It would have been all too easy for an arrogant cadet to climb aboard.

It was all too hard for him to get back.


	18. Epilogue: You And IThe Story of Chess

Visser One examined the Blade ship poised to depart from the Anati homeworld. It was a beautiful craft, and its weapons were second to none.

He inspected the engines. Not bad, but not impressive either. Better to check them in full flight.

((Everything in order for the departure?))

"All clearrr, Visserrr."

((Good.))

The Blade ship soared through the frigid atmosphere—not exceptionally, but it was not designed to do so. The jump into Z-space, however, felt unreasonably slow.

The Visser opened a communications link with a Z-space technician and politely asked if she could look into the problem. The courtesy was unnecessary; he could order her or anyone bar the council around.

Edriss was still on Anati, waiting for her transfer request to be filed. After the conference had ended and Esplin had been promoted, he had been scurrying to and from various appointments. This momentarily confused her—he'd never had much patience for bureaucracy—but she quickly understood. It was a way for him to justify to himself as much as her that he was too busy, too important, for any distractions. She had not tried to see him again.

She had considered returning to Earth to continue with The Sharing, but ultimately decided against it. There would be a new challenge elsewhere in the galaxy.

As Visser One rode through Z-space, his computer beeped. The "problem" was a deliberate feature to automatically confirm jumps into and out of Z-space. It hadn't been installed on standard fighters, which often needed to make the quickest escapes possible, but had been deemed useful for private ships.

_To prevent Vissers from unilaterally disappearing?_ he wondered wryly. Returning to the computer, he began drafting the order to disable such functionality.

As much as she could, Edriss kept to her overlarge quarters. It got easier over time; Yeerks that had come for the conference eventually departed. But whether swimming in the pool or providing her host sustenance, there were plenty of questions that she tried to turn aside while inwardly wondering if the questioners were on to something.

Millennia had passed since the first brain cells evolved in slime under an acidic sky. Cells floated through the muck, absorbing Kandrona rays, but nothing more. Then, gradually, they developed brains.

There were little practical occupations to which to devote the Yeerks' nascent mental powers. All their nutrition was provided for them, and they had nowhere to go but swim. Free from the hassles of work, the Yeerks became self-aware.

Elsewhere, the Gedds were learning—as best they could—to stand, walk, forage for food. And even beyond that, the Skrit Na flew through space as they had done since time immemorial. It was a lonely trader who landed on the Yeerk homeworld one day and gathered up samples of every species it could find.

It would sell all the plant samples to become a very rich being, but the feeble Gedds were too demanding to exhibit. So the trader put the animal life-forms in stasis, where they were forgotten until the ship was auctioned off. Planet by planet, system by system, the frozen slugs were transported, eventually being deposited over half a billion light years away.

Back on their homeworld, the Yeerks grew smarter. And one fateful day, one of them swam up to and into the ear of an overly-inquisitive Gedd.

They were limited at first, constrained by the relative location of Gedd dwellings and their own, but the Yeerks quickly infested their neighbors. They could walk from pool to pool, and interact with their fellows. A system of leadership was needed to coordinate interpool activity, with representatives from each. And so, the Council of Thirteen was born.

Then the Andalites landed, intimidating but well-intentioned visitors from the stars. The Yeerks quickly got over their initial fear and gratefully accepted all the Andalites had to offer. Stories of other worlds, other creatures—not like themselves, perhaps, but like the Gedds. Bodies that could walk. Talk. Hear. See.

With the gift of spaceflight, the Yeerks took off and began expanding their empire. Their greatest weakness was their physical form, but it could be converted into any number of strengths: the powerful body of the Hork-Bajir, the infinitesimal reaction times of the Taxxons. With every species that fell under their sway, their abilities increased. Rather than evolve from cell to vertebrate, the Yeerks could take advantage of many parallel lines of evolution, each producing species uniquely adapted to their surroundings. The synthesis was an Empire whose like the galaxy had never seen.

Visser One and Sub-Visser Ninety-Five had many doubts in the days that followed the conference. Looking back on the previous generations, they wondered how foolish they were. Whether it all had been worth it. Whether they were right.

And then, they looked even farther back, thinking about what had led them to Earth and beyond. And they both reached the same conclusion.

They were Yeerks, members of the greatest race in the Empire. At times, Yeerks were outmastered. At times, they were victims of flukish accident. At times, they were defeated.

But they did _not_ make mistakes.

On Earth, a man nervously stood at a sign in a government office. _For the privacy of others, please wait here._

They weren't so different deep down, Yeerks and humans. His people's technology was greater, their security better. But he had just as little desire for any of the humans to know what he was doing as he did for any other Yeerk to discover him. If his actions on the planet long ago had been treason, this was another level of betrayal.

He had come alone, or as alone as he could—he still needed a host, and could not find the man with whom he had wanted to share the moment. Essam was in a voluntary Controller now. Good enough.

And the other person he'd wanted to be there? She'd missed her chance. He couldn't look back.

As a tearful human stepped aside from the desk, walking into another room, the receptionist waved him forward.

"H-hello," he stammered. After all this time, he'd finally made it, but his mouth felt numb. "I'm here about Charles and Madeline Gervais."


End file.
